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Sock wakes slowly—and only then because the sun is slanting at an angle through Jonathan’s window. He blinks, noting how the blankets are tangled around his legs, and how he can feel Jonathan’s warm skin pressing lightly all along his right side; he thinks that Jonathan’s back is what’s brushing against him.
He turns his head. No, it’s Jonathan’s chest and stomach. He follows the curve of his side upwards from where quilt to his shoulder, and realizes that Jonathan has an arm over Sock’s chest, previously unnoticed due to the barrier of Jonathan’s twisted blue summer blanket.
The sunlight makes Jonathan’s skin look soft, if not a bit shiny, and his hair is messy, more so than his usual bedhead. God, what Sock wouldn’t give to have made his hair that knotted up himself. No use wishing though—getting to sneak into his bed like this is good enough for Sock, as there boundary between them isn’t exactly bridgeable—not while Jonathan’s still breathing, anyway. Sock has plans in the works.
He wiggles, stretches his arms above his head. Yawns. Jonathan stirs a bit, disturbed by Sock, and then yawns too.
“Your breath stinks,” Sock mumbles, moving his hand to rub his nose.
Jonathan retaliates by moving his arm, and shoving Sock’s hair out of his face in a gesture that Sock can’t decipher. It’s far more intimate than Jonathan has ever been with him, despite the roughness, and then his unusually lighthearted tone. “Yours is no better.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m a demon. And, yanno, yours wouldn’t be a problem either if you…”
Jonathan is sitting up then, ignoring Sock and pushing the blankets off of the both of them. Sock has to kick his feet a bit to help get it off.
“…yanno, killed yourself…”
Neither of them is in pajamas. Sock realizes he doesn’t even remember getting into Jonathan’s bed last night.
“You’re gonna pull that now? Ugh. Typical.” Jonathan is saying. “You can’t even help me clean up now, can you?”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind. ‘M goin back to sleep.” He pushes the blanket off the bed, saying he’ll throw them in the wash along with his sheets in an hour or two, and curls up, facing the wall this time. Sock listens to his breathing even back out, while his own heartbeat—as unnecessary as it has become—is speeding up. He pushes himself up, careful to not disturb Jonathan this time, and looks at his own lap. There’s nothing out of place, really, except how he’s not wearing any underwear.
Mess…what mess? Sock glances out towards Jonathan’s room and—oh god. Sure enough, things are knocked over from Jonathan’s desk, and joining the blanket on the floor are not only the usual amount of Jonathan’s dirty clothes, but Sock’s as well—draped over his desk chair and in a pile by the door, emitted a low-key green shine.
Sock can feel his jaw dropping, incrementally, but can’t really prevent it. Looking at the scene, it’s obvious, but—
He shakes Jonathan back into grumpy awareness. “M’not gonna kiss your gross morning mouth, Sock.”
“But I don’t remember it,” Sock says, desperately, as his fingers sink through Jonathan’s arm in his haste, and has to stop shaking him. “Oh my god. Tell me what happened! What did we do? I can’t remember anything.” He tosses an arm out to the room, a gesture attempting to encompass it all. “I don’t know how we made this mess! And we’re naked.”
Jonathan rolls over onto his back to glare at him, and grab Sock’s forearm, extracting Sock’s hands from his torso, one at a time. “Oh, my god, shut up. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull.”
“No, I’m being serious! Did we—did we…?” He goes pink-cheeked trying to say it. “I… I mean. Just tell me what we did.”
Jonathan glares at him, and Sock keeps his mouth shut, until Jonathan realizes that—for now—there’s nothing else to do. He does a sigh, and adjusts his shoulders, stretching his neck to drop his head to the pillow. It’s falling into the space between the bed and the wall, but there’s still enough there. His stretching draws Sock’s eyes to a very, very incriminating dark mark on Jonathan’s neck. “We kissed. And—yanno.” He waves a hand lazily. “On my desk. And then went to bed and did it again. Are you happy now?”
“No, I don’t remember that. Or…yesterday at all. Is it Friday…?” He glances away, but then back to Jonathan.
“It’s Sunday. Sock, you can’t be serious right now. Demons don’t get amnesia, or like, anything.”
“I know. Why would I try to make something like this up?” There’s a preoccupied tone to his voice, and his eyes are still focused on the mark. “I really like you! I wanna know what kissing you is like!”
Jonathan’s face is growing a bit more concerned as Sock leans over him. He doesn’t flinch as Sock places two fingers over the mark. It’s warmer than the rest of Jonathan’s skin. Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Go brush your teeth.”
“How?”
“Or drink some water, I don’t know, just let me get up.”
Sock sits on the bed as Jonathan clambers off. He watches as Jonathan pulls on a pair of old boxers and goes into the bathroom. He comes back and sticks a toothbrush in Sock’s mouth, one of the cheap ones that you take home from the dentist—he’s got his own sticking out of his mouth.
Sock follows him to the bathroom this time, and they brush their teeth. Sock feels awkward; there’s something between them now, for sure, and he’s out of the loop.
Jonathan spits out the toothpaste first, and Sock copies him. “You sure do have a roundabout, weird way of getting me to kiss you,” Jonathan grumbles while Sock tries—and fails—to pick up Jonathan’s cup of water. Jonathan hands it to him, and when it’s put down again, Sock finds Jonathan’s large hands cupping his face. He can feel the guitar-string calluses on his fingertips.
“Just watch the demon teeth this time,” Jonathan says, and then his thin lips are pressing against Sock’s, moving gently.
Sock parts his lips, lets his eyes slide shut, and tries to angle his head a bit and kiss back, heart racing. All he manages to do is bite Jonathan’s lower lip by accident, which Jonathan shoves him sideways into the bathroom counter for doing.
Sock stays there, for a moment, feeling the hot glow of the kiss still on his mouth. It fades fast, and he’s craving more, because holy shit was that kiss far too short—just a minuscule taste of the memory that’s inexplicably missing.
He decides that the only thing to do is to get Jonathan to help him redo it all.